The Last Light
by mgowriter
Summary: There is an infection spreading across the country. Nate and Sully try to secure provisions to get out of the city, but something goes horribly wrong. Uncharted with a sprinkle of The Last of Us.


**mgowriter's notes**: This story takes place 2 years after the end of Uncharted 3 and many years before "Searching for Hope," my other Uncharted/The Last of Us Story. It was the most challenging piece of fanfic I've written to date, partly due to the wintery/gloomy mood I was in and partly due to what happens in the story itself, but I'm happy I stuck with it! The next one will be different, I promise.

* * *

><p><strong>The Last Light<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

Victor Sullivan took in his surroundings cautiously. The residential block was eerily quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos on the more heavily trafficked streets in the city. The faint bustle of a window curtain across the street caught his attention. He frowned, wondering how many other pairs of eyes were on him at the moment. Hurrying from his car to the brick building, he pressed the button next to an apartment number on the third floor.

"It's open," a voice sounded over the intercom as the door buzzed.

Nathan Drake opened his door just as Sully rounded the last flight of stairs.

"Sully, come in," he said in greeting.

The older man nodded, looking around as he entered the apartment. The living room was in more disarray than usual, with newspapers, magazines, and empty mugs littered across the coffee table. A trail of toys made its way through the room, ending just below the TV screen mounted on the wall. Although the volume was muted, the news coverage was continuous.

It had been the same thing, and increasing so, for the past ten days. They were calling it the Ophio Infection—a fungus that jumped species and could now infect humans. Experts who had a chance to study it were coming forward to suggest it had been altered by humans for use as a biological weapon. Hospitals, houses, and even neighborhoods were being quarantined. The first reported case was in California, but it was spreading, fast. The National Guard had already been sent to Los Angeles, Chicago, and Atlanta.

It entered the body by way of blood or saliva, and made its way quickly to the brain. There were reports, some believable, some preposterous, of personalities being changed by the infection. With the breakdown of order, the number of rioters grew in the bigger cities. People were scared. There were rumors that martial law would be implemented soon.

"You're packing a lot of heat for a visit." Nate's comment brought Sully out of his thoughts.

He absently touched the handle of the Smith & Wesson revolver at his side.

"It's not just a visit."

Sully pictured the assortment of pistols and rifles in the back seat of his car, along with the extra gasoline and duffle bag he packed earlier in the morning.

"Nate, is that Sully?" Elena's voice interjected from the bedroom before he could elaborate.

She emerged a second later, holding their squirming seven month old daughter in her arms.

"I'm so glad you're here," she said, and walked over to hug him. Her usually warm demeanor was tense, her eyes full of worry.

Ellie, wearing a miniature pink dress and socks to match, wiggled around in her mother's hold. Her pudgy hand reached toward Sully.

"Hi there," Sully said with a genuine smile, lowering himself to her level.

Ellie mirrored his smile, revealing four baby teeth. She grabbed for Sully again, this time with both arms.

"Here," Elena said, as she handed Ellie to him. "She only does that for you, you know."

"What's that?" Sully asked, securing the child in his arms.

"Look cute and adorable. She's an absolute monster when it's just the two of us."

Sully laughed. "Is that right?" he asked Ellie, who answered with her own cooing. "I guess there's just something about the Victor Sullivan charm. Girls can't seem to resist it."

Elena rolled her eyes, but smiled at the image of Sully entertaining her daughter.

. . .

"What do you think, Sully?" Nate's voice brought them back to reality. He turned to look at the TV. "This stuff sounds crazy."

Sully nodded, handing Ellie back to Elena.

"It sounds like a goddamn science fiction movie that's getting worse by the hour. Did you hear about them stopping all flights last night?"

Both Nate and Elena nodded.

"I think we should leave, get out of the city, maybe out of the state, find somewhere where there's less people and wait it out."

"I don't know," Nate hesitated. "Ellie's not even a year old. It'll be hard to go on the run with her."

Sully shook his head. "I don't think we have a better option. If the infection gets here and they decide to quarantine the city, who knows what's going to happen? We're going to have a helluva lot harder time trying to get out. We should go now, today."

"We can't just—"

Nate's next words were engulfed by the loud punctuation of three gunshots, too close for comfort.

Frightened by the noise and the reaction of the adults, Ellie started to cry. Nate walked quickly to the window.

"They're gone," he said, "I don't see anything."

Sully straightened himself from his instinctual crouch.

"Look, kid, I know it's dangerous, but we've been in some pretty hairy spots before. You've got me, and Elena can hold her own. We do this together, and we make it out alive. It's getting too unstable to stay here, especially in a building with twenty other people who are scared and willing to shoot the first person that crosses their path."

"Sully's right," said Elena, holding a teary-eyed Ellie. "We can't stay here."

Nate looked between his best friend and his wife. Their reasoning made sense, but he couldn't shake the growing doubt in the back of his mind.

"Okay, okay," Nate finally agreed. "But we stick together, and we do this the right way. We can't risk anything happening to ourselves or to Ellie."

"Good," said Sully. "Elena, you stay here and pack. Nate and I will go get as much food and water as we can fit in the car. Be ready to go when we get back."

"Wait," Elena said, as the two men headed for the door. She walked towards Nate and kissed him on the lips. They exchanged a look before she turned to Sully. "Be careful, the both of you."

"I'll keep him in check," said Sully. He turned his attention to Ellie, who was now sniffling into her mother's shirt. He wiped a stray tear from her cheek and kissed her soft, brown hair. "See you soon, Ellie."

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 2<strong>

"Put this on," said Sully, as he and Nate settled into the Jeep. He handed the younger man a .45 caliber pistol.

Nate frowned, but took the gun and holster. He hadn't felt the weight of a firearm in his hands since Ellie was born.

"You think we're gonna need it?"

"When was the last time you were outside?"

"Two days ago," said Nate. "People were scared, but it's not anything like what's been going on in Los Angeles."

"A lot's changed in two days," said Sully. "I'd hate to use force, but we have to get water and food, and then get the hell out of the city."

Nate's frown deepened as he fastened the holster onto his waist.

As Sully drove out of the neighborhood, Nate could see the drastic transformation that the city had undergone. Most stores were closed, some with windows boarded up. Trash bags and garbage littered the roads. People were hurrying along, in cars and by foot. Every gas station they passed created a small roadblock around the surrounding streets as the sounds of impatient horns filled the air. There was a general sense of panic that wasn't there just two days ago. Nate looked at Sully.

"You were right. I didn't realize it was this bad."

"It's like this all over the country," Sully said as he pulled into the parking lot of a strip mall that housed a grocery store. Cars were jammed into spaces all around the lot, and people came in and out of the store in an increasingly chaotic race.

"Watch your back here, Nate. It's an open area, lots of traffic, lots of panicked people."

Sully parked the car at the far end of the lot and surveyed the crowd.

"That's going to take too long," said Nate, pointing at the front entrance, where people were now pushing and fighting to get inside. A man coming out of the store tripped on the sidewalk. His package of canned goods spilled in ten different directions. The individual cans were picked up in a few seconds as he was left with nothing, chasing after another who had picked up the last can.

Sully shifted his gaze to a small alley bordering the left side of the store. He could see two commercial garbage dumpsters lined against the building.

"Come on," he motioned to Nate, who followed closely behind.

They wound their way through the maze of people and walked along the side of the building to the rear, where they found a loading dock with two large, metal-gated doors. Nate climbed up the nearest one.

"No luck," he said as he jumped back down. "Looks like they're controlled from the inside."

"This way," Sully motioned, and walked further along the building. They stopped at a door that read "Employee Entrance."

Nate unholstered his pistol and aimed at the lock.

"Wait," said Sully. "That's going to make too much noise."

He pulled out a small leather case from his pocket and opened it to reveal a lock pick set.

"When did you start carrying that around?" Nate asked.

"Since the world started going to hell," said Sully, as he worked quickly on the lock.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

The storeroom was a dark, concrete square with columns of cardboard boxes lined in rows that extended beyond the reach of the sunlight. Nate entered the room cautiously.

"You find a light switch in there?" Sully asked.

He tried the switch just inside the door, with no success.

"I'm gonna see if there's another one," said Nate. "Lend me your lighter?"

Sully passed along the single light source between the two of them.

"You complain about the cigars and yet every single time…."

"Okay, okay," said Nate in mock resignation. "So it comes in handy once in a while, I'll give you that." He paused for a moment, smiling at the memory of Sully's surprise when he received the lighter from a much younger version of himself more than twenty years ago. Nate couldn't believe the thing still worked; it was more or less an antique when he acquired it.

"What's so funny?" Sully asked.

"Nothing," said Nate, still smiling.

The older man gave him a disapproving look. "Just be careful."

"Always am, aren't I?"

Nate's comment elicited another frown from Sully.

"Point taken."

Nate groped his way around the perimeter of the wall, trying to scan as much of the room as he could by the light of the single flame. His fingers closed around another light switch at the next corner, but it also failed to respond. He continued on until he had made it half way across the room, when the gleam of the flame against sheets of clear plastic caught his eye.

Water. Stacks of perfectly wrapped bottles of water. A couple of steps toward the center of the room revealed similarly packaged cans of food, already uncovered from their cardboard boxes.

"Sully," Nate said into the darkness. "Come take a look."

There was a sudden movement to his left, causing the flame from the lighter to go out. Before Nate could react, heavy, forceful hands grabbed his throat and tightened around it quickly. He heard a low growl in his ear and felt the hot breath of his attacker on his face.

The odor of mold and decaying plants filled his lungs with every struggling breath. He grasped at the hands around his neck, but they wouldn't budge. Instinctively, he kicked behind him. His heel contacted with the attacker's knee, but the grip around his neck only tightened. Nate felt his own hands weaken around the other man's hold, as the wheezing sounds coming from his trachea began to fade.

His body was desperate for air. He grabbed at his pistol, but his weakening grasp couldn't hold on to the gun. As his vision started to dim, he remembered thinking that it was impossible for one man to be so strong.

The crack of the gunshot was deafening next to his ear, reverberating and then dissipating through the concrete walls of the room. He felt the iron grip release from his throat as he and his attacker both fell to the ground.

He choked on his first gasp of air. After a few seconds of violent coughing, a different set of hands grabbed him by his shirt and lifted him up to a standing position. Sully's voice faded in and out for a moment, as the ringing in his ears finally stabilized.

"Sully," Nate said, as he stifled another cough. "Gimme a minute."

He leaned against one of the columns for support. His legs started to give out, but Sully held him up. He had the lighter in one hand, and his other moved quickly over Nate's hands and arms, inspecting every drop of blood on Nate's skin.

"Did he draw blood?" Sully asked, now roughly examining his neck and the back of his head.

"Ow. Sully, that hurts," said Nate, touching his throat gingerly.

"Are you bleeding?" Sully asked again, with more urgency.

"No," said Nate, looking down at the splatter on his shirt. "I think this is all his blood. What are you talking about?"

He followed Sully's gaze to the body on the floor. The bullet had entered the back of the attacker's head and exited to the side of his eye socket. The man's head, or what was left of it, had a ridge running vertically down the skull. The skin on his scalp and face was replaced with what looked like large scales, but softer in texture. His hair had mostly fallen out, with the last sparse strands remaining on some of the scales.

"Do you think he's…?"

Sully nodded. "The infection's moving faster than we thought. It's here."

"Jesus," said Nate, realizing fully the danger he was just in. "I can't believe they actually look like this. I couldn't do anything. He had the strength of three men."

"Come on," said Sully. "Everybody within two blocks heard that gunshot and people are going to see what it was. When they see the food, there's going to be a mob. We have to get out of here."

Nate nodded, sparing one last look at his attacker. They found a flat, wooden platform nearby and the two men loaded it quickly. They wheeled the platform carefully back to Sully's car, and transferred the contents into the trunk.

. . .

"You got that?" Nate asked as the last carton was secured.

"Yeah," Sully replied. "Get in the car."

Sully was aware of the precious cargo they had in their hands and the need for a quick getaway. He shut the rear door of the Jeep and had the driver's side open when he heard shuffling footsteps behind him. He turned to see a boy, no older than seven or eight, pointing a gun unsteadily at his chest.

"Give me the food," the boy said in an equally unsteady voice.

"Watch where you're pointing that thing, kid," said Sully. He inspected the revolver from a distance, and noticed the hammer had been cocked. The safety was off.

"Aren't you a little too young to be holding that? Where are your parents?"

The boy continued to aim the gun, pointing it up toward Sully's heart. He squared his small shoulders, and said again, "Give me the food."

Sully glanced to his left. Nate was turned away from him, reaching for something in the back seat. He turned back toward the kid, and placed his hands up as a sign of cooperation. He scanned the area surrounding the Jeep. There were relatively few people close by, and enough room to maneuver. It would be easy to get around the kid; he just needed to get into the car.

"I'm going to get in the car and unlock the back, okay? Take it easy."

The kid didn't reply. His aim wavered slightly as he tried to control the weapon in his hands.

"Just take it easy, kid," Sully said again, forcing calmness into his voice.

He was halfway into the driver's seat when he heard the sound of the gunshot. The next few seconds played before him in slow motion, as he saw the boy reel backwards from the kick of the gun and land on the grey asphalt. He heard Nate call out his name, but the sound seemed to come from a distance.

Sully exhaled sharply as the searing pain stabbed along his right side and brought him back to reality.

"Sully!" Nate yelled again. He hurried around the front of the car and caught the older man just as he started to slide toward the ground.

He looked up to see the boy, who had recovered from the ground and again pointed his gun shakily in their direction. He stared at the reddening circle on Sully's shirt.

Nate drew his own pistol.

"Drop the gun!" he yelled. He looked around frantically. What the hell happened? Sully was right behind him.

The boy didn't respond, and continued to stare. Nate looked down at Sully, who was leaning heavily on him. His hands were around the bullet wound, and covered in blood.

"Drop it!" Nate yelled again at the boy. He wrapped his finger around the trigger. Jesus, it was just a kid.

This time the boy blinked, and seemed to pull himself out of his shock. He let the revolver fall from his hands, and bolted away from the scene.

. . .

There was blood everywhere, too much blood.

It poured out from underneath Sully's hand, though the fingers that covered his right side and onto the ground. Nate pressed his own hands on top of Sully's, trying to stop the flow.

"Sully, you're gonna be okay." His voice shook unsteadily with his words, reflecting the trembling in his hands. There was too much blood. It oozed through his own fingers, bringing the smell of iron into the air. He pressed down harder.

"Nate," Sully groaned in pain.

"We just…we just have to stop the bleeding and get you to a hospital."

Nate lifted the pressure for a second to get a better view of the entry wound and a new flow of bright red liquid gushed out.

_Too fast_. It was coming out too fast. That only meant one thing. _No._ He refused the thought, pushed it to the back of his mind. This wasn't happening, not to Sully. The man was invincible. Nate had single handedly seen him get shot at least a dozen times, and he always walked away. Maybe a few stitches here and there, but he always walked away.

"Must've…caught an artery," Sully said, voicing Nate's worst fear. The dark red puddle on the ground next to him continued to expand.

Nate shook his head, trying to clear his mind. He could almost see the color draining from the older man's face. With his free hand, he fumbled for Sully's wrist. The pulse was fast, but almost undetectably weak. Five and a half liters. The amount of blood in a human body. There was too much of it on Sully, on him, on the ground, all around them.

"Sully," said Nate, noticing the older man's eyes grow heavier with each breath. He gripped tightly on Sully's shoulder. "Stay with me, Sully."

The older man nodded slowly. His breathing was shallow and ragged. Each breath caused him obvious pain.

"We have to move, okay? We have to get to the hospital." His mind was numb. This wasn't happening. Nate lifted Sully a few inches off the ground, but the blood continued to flow. Sully's shirt felt sickeningly slippery to the touch. It had long been drenched with the warm liquid.

Quickly taking off his outer shirt, Nate ripped off a long piece of cloth and started to wrap it around the wound.

Sully's hand on his stopped his work. "Nate, I don't think…I'm gonna make it."

Nate felt the hot sting of tears in his eyes and the tightening at the back of his throat. He shook his head, and forced himself to resume tying the makeshift bandage.

"Of course you're gonna make it." His hands trembled with each movement, making the task much harder to accomplish. He struggled and failed to keep the panic out of his voice. "How many times have you been shot, huh? This is nothing. You always make it."

"I think…my luck…just ran out."

Nate didn't allow himself to process the older man's words. He knew that if he stopped, or slowed down, they would start to make sense.

Sully winced as he pulled himself off the ground, resting on the front tire of the Jeep.

"We have to go," Nate said again. "Please, Sully."

"The first time we were in Rome," Sully began, "and the night Adrian died because he tipped us off—what did I tell you?"

"Sully—"

"What did I say?" Sully asked, with increasing effort.

Nate exhaled shakily. He forced himself to concentrate, to bring up the memory.

"You said…don't waste your time on the dead. Honor them by protecting the living."

He realized the full meaning of the words as they came out of his mouth, and felt sick to his stomach. This was a nightmare. Sully was standing next to him five minutes ago. He would wake up and realize it was just a bad dream.

With labored effort, Sully unbuckled the revolver from his holster and handed it to Nate.

"Take it," he said. "Take the car. Get Elena and Ellie out of the city."

Nate started to protest, but he continued.

"I'm glad that…" he paused for a painful breath, looking into the younger man's eyes. "…that you were a lousy pick pocket in Cartagena." He attempted a smile that turned into a grimace. "I would've never known what it was like to be a father otherwise."

Nate wiped at the tears that blurred his vision. He placed his hand onto Sully's face, cursing every second that passed too quickly. He wasn't ready for this.

"You saved my life, you raised me. Sully, I…" His voice shook with emotion.  
>"You're gonna be okay, kid. I'm…proud of you." Sully's eyes started to close as he took a shallow breath. "I'm glad we found…each other."<p>

Sully's eyes stayed closed and his breathing stopped.

"Sully!" Nate shook the older man, with no response. He tried again, with more desperation in his voice, and a third time.

Sully lay still beside him.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 4<strong>

The sound of screams coming from behind him pulled Nate out of his daze. He blinked a couple of times, and wiped the wetness from around his eyes. Looking down at Sully's body, he could see the blood had stopped seeping from the bullet hole. He didn't know how much time had passed. Another scream sounded behind him, followed by two gunshots.

Nate scrambled to his feet, and scanned the parking lot for the source of the noise. A man dressed in a full camouflage uniform pointed a gun toward the sky. A dozen people ran away from him in all directions.

With effort, Nate hoisted Sully carefully up into the back seat. He stopped to stare at the man that was his mentor, at the deathly pale skin that was the wrong color, and at the blood that now covered them both.

Another gunshot forced him to look away. He climbed into the driver's seat and started the car.

It took him a couple of minutes to reach the main road. He pulled into the first side street that looked empty, placed the car in park, and opened the door just in time to empty the contents of his stomach. He continued to vomit until there was nothing left but the taste of bile in his mouth. Even then, the convulsions wouldn't stop until he felt the acid burning his esophagus.

Three emotions hit him at once; the raw heartbreak that grabbed hold of his body and forced the air out of his lungs; the building anger at the unfairness of it all; and the overwhelming sadness that filled every molecule in his body, knowing he had just lost the only real father he had ever known.

He rested his head against the steering wheel and closed his eyes. His mind ran wild with thoughts. He saw images of Sully and himself next to the infected man who attacked him; Sully smoking a cigar in his study, trying to decipher an ancient Egyptian script; Sully holding Ellie in his arms, reading a book to her. He couldn't stop the images. They came faster and faster, until everything was a blur, and he felt sick again.

Nate forced his eyes open. He pressed his fingers against his temples, and forced himself to think. He needed to pull himself together. He had to push the grief back, or it would swallow him.

Nate closed his eyes again and commanded himself to focus. His hands shook despite his efforts to calm them.

_How are you gonna aim that gun if you don't stop twitching like you're dancing the jitterbug?_ Sully's voice sounded in his mind. _Listen kid, I know you're scared, and it's okay, but you can't let that stop you. Here's what you do. Close your eyes, relax your shoulders, like this, and imagine that extra energy flowing out through the bottom of your shoes._

Nate mirrored the actions of his sixteen-year-old self and breathed in deeply. He forced his body to relax.

_Stay sharp, stay relaxed, stay alive. You ever heard of that one, kid? And always have a backup plan, because ninety percent of the time plan A is gonna go straight to hell. _

Nate took in one last breath, twisted the car keys, and listened to the engine roar to life. Time for plan B.

. . .

The Jeep stopped just outside a set of black iron gates that seemed to come straight out of the movies. They were framed on both sides by thick stone pillars that extended a dozen feet high. A banner that read, "Palm Bay Cemetery" connected the life-like statues of stone lions atop the two pillars.

The gates were locked with a heavy set of chains, but Nate scaled them easily. He walked past a small, single-room building near the entrance to the larger funeral home that stood behind a garden of flowers. After trying the front door, he circled around to the back, and caught a glimpse of a forest-green truck as he rounded the corner. A man, about fifty years old, thin and wearing thick glasses, was locking up the back. He looked up as he heard Nate's approaching footsteps.

"Hey, you're not supposed to be here. The gate's locked."

"I need to bury someone," said Nate, trying to keep his voice calm.

The other man shook his head. "We're closed. I'm the last one left, and I'm headed home in about two seconds. Sorry, pal."

Nate stepped closer to the man, so they were just a few feet apart. The man took in the red splatters on his shirt, and the blood that was now drying on his arms and hands. He backed away slowly.

"Look, pal, I don't want any trouble. I'm just the caretaker on the weekends."

Nate pulled out his pistol. "I'm only going to say this once," he said in a voice that he didn't recognize. "I need you to unlock the gate so I can pull my car in. You're going to help me bury my friend, and then you're free to go."

The man held his hands up in surrender. "You…you can't do this. Haven't you been watching the news? I'm not even supposed to be here. The owner paid me an extra five hundred bucks to lock everything up. I've got a wife and kids. I've gotta get home."

Nate pressed the gun against the caretaker's chest. He felt the sharp inhalation of the other man's lungs.

"You wanna get out of this alive? The sooner we get it done, the sooner you go home to your wife and kids. You wanna run? I'm going to shoot you right here." He tapped the muzzle of the gun to the man's heart. "Quick, but still dead. You're choice."

The caretaker swallowed. "Sounds like an easy choice."

Nate stepped back from the man.

Something seemed to click in the caretaker's mind. "Actually, I have a grave that's about ninety percent done. The guys started it this morning, a rush job for some rich family, but they got spooked around lunch time and never came back. It's in a helluva spot, too. Those plots come in at ten thousand dollars a pop."

Nate nodded at the caretaker's comments. "Where is it?"

"I'll show you."

The caretaker walked to the gate and unlocked the heavy chain with one of the keys from his oversized key ring.

"Jesus Almighty," he said, when he saw Sully in the back seat, along with the blood that seemed to coat every surface of the car. "Was it one of them?"

"One of who?" Nate asked.

"You know, those people with the infection. Channel 13 said this morning it made them aggressive, more prone to committing violent crimes and all that. You believe that stuff?"

Nate shook his head. "It wasn't one of them."

. . .

The caretaker led Nate deeper into the property, until they stopped outside an area lined by alternating maple trees and flowering marlberry shrubs. Nate drove the Jeep slowly into the space. The sounds from the street became muted, lending to a feeling of quiet and seclusion. The few headstones that were visible stood far apart, with rows of flowers in between them. The section of the cemetery resembled a garden more than anything else. The main focus of the area was a large, expansive maple tree toward the further end of the space.

"That's where the original owner and his wife are buried," the caretaker said, following Nate's gaze. "Nice view, huh?"

His question went unanswered as they both climbed out of the car.

"Over there is the plot," the caretaker pointed to their right. "Like I said, it's just about ready, especially if nobody's really gonna be seeing it."

The freshly dug grave smelled of moist earth and cut grass. A yellow tractor loader sat next to a mound of dirt, along with a few shovels.

"What do we do?" asked Nate.

The caretaker handed him a shovel. "We dig, even out the bottom, about three inches all around, and it'll be ready to go.

Nate nodded, and they both went to work. When they were finished, the caretaker helped Nate carry Sully out of the car, onto the ground.

He took a closer look at his mentor. The blood had soaked through both the front and backside of Sully's Havana shirt. It ran down the length of his pants in rivulets, onto his shoes. His hands and arms, like Nate's, were covered with drying blood. Fingerprints were visible in the blood on his arms and the side of his face, inked in deep red.

The caretaker shook his head. "You said he was a friend?"

Nate nodded.

"Well, he's lucky to have someone who cares enough to bury him. That family that bought the plot? We couldn't get a hold of them this morning. Their son is still in the freezer."

The caretaker glanced back at Sully. "You might want to look through his pockets. People usually want to have something to keep."

Nate was about to decline his suggestion, but something made him change his mind. He kneeled down beside Sully's body, and carefully pulled out the contents of his pockets. First, the lock pick set from earlier, then the lighter that Sully always had on his person, his cell phone, and finally an old, leather wallet that he had been carrying around for more than twenty years. It had literally fallen apart a couple of years ago, but Sully insisted on having it relined and re-stitched.

Nate studied the engraving on the silver lighter, and flipped it open to see the flame come alive. He couldn't count the number of times he heard the grind of the thumbwheel against the flint, the sound of Sully inhaling the first puffs of a cigar, watching the end burn bright red, and the smell of tobacco smoke that would fill the room. The thought of never seeing Sully light another cigar threatened to bring back the overwhelming sorrow he had so carefully pushed to the back of his mind, and he flipped the cover shut.

He picked up the worn wallet next. The contents were familiar, credit cards and business cards, along with quite a substantial amount of cash. He stared at the Florida driver's license behind the plastic holder. _Victor Sullivan_. Brown hair, blue eyes, 5'11 in height. The picture of Sully was from a few years ago, when his hair was more salt and pepper than gray, but the smile was the same. He had put on the full charm for the camera, probably aimed at a female DMV employee on the other end. Women loved that smile. He had seen it work its magic first hand many times.

Nate was about to close the wallet when he noticed a yellowing corner poking out from the back compartment. He tugged at the corner, and pulled out a piece of paper that had the words _Ica, Peru_ stamped on the back. He flipped the paper over to reveal a faded photograph. It was of him and Sully, many years ago. They were standing in some sort of court yard, and he was smiling stupidly at the camera. He held a round medallion in both hands, and was obviously proud of the accomplishment. Sully stood to his left, with an arm around his shoulder, a cigar in his mouth, and an equally wide grin.

The picture pulled him out of his numbness, and he felt a new wave of grief fill his heart. Nate remembered the medallion, but didn't remember taking the picture, or ever seeing it. It was one of the first treasures they found together. He traced his finger over Sully's face, and stared at the picture for a long time before carefully placing it in his own pocket.

He returned the other objects to their owner, and sat next to his friend. Nate took hold of Sully's hand, as if to shake it, but simply held on. It was cool and limp, a completely foreign feeling compared to the firm grasp and warm handshake he was used to. He knew he had lost more than a friend. Sully was a mentor and a father to him; the only real family he had known since the age of five, when he was placed in an orphanage after his mother's death. He had a family of his own now, with Elena and Ellie, but he knew he would never share the same bond with anyone else that he had shared with Sully. He knew a part of him would be missing for the rest of his life.

"When I was younger, I always had this image of us going out together, taking on fifty bad guys in a jungle somewhere," Nate said softly, with an attempt at a smile. "Or me falling from the side of a building because I didn't listen to your warning." He paused, and lowered his head. "I should've seen that kid coming. It was a stupid thing to do, getting in the car without looking back. I should've had your back, like you always have mine." He took in a shaky breath. "You always found a way out of these impossible situations that we get ourselves into, Sully. How am I going to get out of this one?"

The older man didn't answer, and Nate eventually forced himself to let go of Sully's hand, placing it gently by his side. Although his body was broken, Sully's features were at peace, and Nate was glad to have that as the lasting memory in his mind.

The two men placed Sully's body in the grave. After the last shovelful of dirt was placed, Nate tossed the tool aside and rubbed the perspiration off of his face. There was one more thing left to do.

He looked around for a couple of rocks that were equal in size, and placed them at the head of the grave.

"I'll be back for a proper marker," he promised as he placed them.

He looked around the secluded section of the cemetery. The sun, now setting, reflected off the leaves of the trees and painted everything in a golden light. Had Sully been sitting beside him, he would've agreed it was a beautiful sunset. For having such a tough exterior, Sully wouldn't have admitted that sunset was his favorite time of day. Wherever they were in the world, he always managed to find a couple of bottles of beer, force Nate to stop his research on their next job, and sit with him to watch the setting sun.

Nate touched the slightly damp soil with his hands and he closed his eyes against the soft breeze that ruffled the leaves of the maple trees. Those were some of his favorite memories with Sully, hearing about his crazy stories of a past life. He looked toward the horizon again, where streaks of orange and pink now lined the sky.

_This one's for you, Sully._ _Goodbye, my friend._


End file.
